


The Morning Light

by TerrusDacktellus



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics)
Genre: Baudelaire references, F/M, cause Shakespeare just wasn't pretentious enough, kitty peroxide - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerrusDacktellus/pseuds/TerrusDacktellus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old insecurities, marauding kittens, Buffy's cooking and badly timed phone calls abound and yet, this still isn't their worst morning after ever. Spike and Buffy wake up after their night of passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the events of BtVS s10.12, Love Dares You Pt II. Some mild angst but mostly just more fun with kittens.

You’d think that after the most perfect, ecstatic night of his whole life, he’d have slept well, visions of Buffy’s face drifting in and out of his dreams, but nah. Spike’s sleep was laced with tearing flesh, the hot gush of blood under his fangs and the desperate, animal screams of the soon to be dead. He woke up with a twisting sensation in his stomach and a metallic taste in his mouth. 

Without opening his eyes, he reached for her - they’d drifted apart in the night - and found only cool, empty sheets. Seized with a sudden panicked conviction that it’d all been a dream, he sat bolt upright, groping in the bed for some trace of her warmth and his heavy eyes finally unstuck themselves. Nothing. Sweet fuck all. She was gone. Spike slowly sank back onto the pillows. He hadn’t dreamed it all, he knew that much because her scent was everywhere, in the bed, on his hands and her bra was still where she’d chucked it last night, - _baring herself to him without shame, her perfect, perky little tits falling free and he’d wanted to bury his face in them, be right next to her heart_ \- hanging drunkenly from his bedside lamp. That didn’t mean shit, of course. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d been in such a rush to get away from him that she’d left things behind. 

He was being unfair, jumping to conclusions, Spike knew that. Maybe she’d just slipped out to the loo (long enough for the bed to go cold?) or had to rush out for some emergency (without waking him?). _Or maybe she woke up next your cold, dead body, saw you for what you are in the morning light and ran in disgust._ Metamorphoses of the vampire; he’d lived this poem before. _You pathetic fucking tosser, you knew this was coming, why are you so fucking surprised?_ The insecurities that had vanished when he’d told her he loved her and seen the light blaze in her eyes came roaring back and he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to rub away the memories. _Evil, disgusting thing, could never be your girl, soulless thing, dead inside, thing thing thing thingthingthing._

“You bloody fool,” he mumbled to himself. He lay there with his hands over his face a while longer, breathing in the scent of her and trying very hard not to think. In a while, he would have to get up and look for her or maybe not because he didn’t want to push her and there could still be an explanation and - 

“Good morning, sleepy head!”

Spike jerked his hands away in surprise and sat up to see Buffy standing the doorway, carrying a tray with two plates piled high with food and two steaming mugs. She was beaming at him, still giving off a radiant, well shagged glow, her hair sticking up at odd angles - _he’d done that, combing his fingers through it as they’d kissed and kissed, delighting in finally getting to touch those gorgeous, golden tresses again_ \- and she was wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts. He had no illusions about his own size, he knew he was not a tall man, but even so, the shirt was like a dress on her. It was wonderfully endearing. He stared at her happy, shining face, so different from the angry, bitter girl in his memories and felt his mouth drop open stupidly. Breakfast. She’d gone to make breakfast. _You moronic twat._

Obviously pleased with herself, Buffy carried the tray over for his assessment. There was a mound of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast on both plates, but one was slathered with tabasco sauce and jalapeños, with a twin piles of M&Ms and crisps on the side. Somehow she’d got his weird tastes down exactly. Or maybe she paid more attention to him than he’d thought. Buffy set it down on the bedside table and looked at him quizzically. 

“Spike? You okay?” He realised he was still gaping at her, fish like, and he shook himself out of his funk, grabbed her arm and hauled her across the bed. Startled, she lost her balance and fell into his lap and he bent down and kissed her. She let out a squeak of protest, yelping something about ‘morning breath’ against his lips, then trailed off into a long, pleased moan that washed over him and sank down into his gut, melting the knot of ice that’d settled there some time in his sleep. She sighed as they broke apart, looking up at him with those perfect, heart stopping green eyes and he could practically feel her warmth streaming into him, like sunshine chasing the shadows out of every dark pocket of his being. _Fuck, getting dangerously close to bloody awful poet territory._

“Good mornin’, sunshine,” he said, keeping a lid on his lyrical impulses for the most part and she smiled up at him, that megawatt look that he’d yearned for years to have turned on him. 

“Morning,” she panted and he kissed her again, slower this time, languidly exploring her mouth. Her arms came up to link around his neck and for long, long moment, he forget everything else but her. 

“Breakfast is getting cold,” she said when they broke apart again. He stole another kiss, biting her lower lip softly. “I worked hard on that.” 

There was a hint of a pout in her voice now and Spike rubbed his nose against hers playfully. 

“Amn’t I supposed to be the one who makes breakfast after a night of passion?” he said and Buffy gave a mock haughty sniff. 

“I transcend gender roles,” she proclaimed and he couldn’t argue there, so he let her go and reached across her for the tray, careful not to spill anything. The unmistakable smell of blood rose to greet him and he stared into the mugs in confusion. Sure enough, one was filled with coffee, the other with dark, red liquid. Buffy was already tucking into her eggs enthusiastically, apparently oblivious to his shock. She’d brought him blood, heated the way he liked it, as though it were nothing, as though she had breakfast in bed with vampires every morning. He wasn’t sure how he felt about drinking blood in front of her, particularly after the disturbing dreams that’d plagued him all night but obviously, she didn’t have a problem with it. 

“You’re not eating,” said Buffy with her mouth full. “Is it not good?” 

“No, no!” he said. “’S perfect, thank you.” He scooped up some of everything hastily and shoveled it into his mouth to demonstrate his gratitude but Buffy wasn’t fooled. 

“Is everything okay? Is this weird? Did you - did you change your mind?” 

She was struggling to sound calm and collected and it occurred to Spike that she was as unsure of herself as he was. He swallowed, feeling a little braver.

“It is weird,” he admitted, deciding to go for complete honesty. “But a good weird,” he went on quickly, before her face had time to fall. “I mean, have you ever wanted something - like properly yearned for it, for years an’ years an’ years an’ then suddenly got it, out of nowhere? I kinda - I dunno what to do with myself, love.” 

“You’re terrified,” she said quietly and he knew what she was remembering. 

“No. Well, yes, sort of.” She stared dejectedly into her food and Spike sighed, setting the tray aside so he could take both her hands in his. It was awkward, sitting half facing each other in bed but he wanted the connection, trying to tell her with his touch what his clumsy mouth refused to convey.

“This doesn’t feel real,” he told her and she scowled, insulted. 

“Gee, thanks.” 

Spike bit back a groan and tried again. 

 

“‘M not saying that you don’t mean what you said, I just - pet, it feels like I’m dreaming. And I am scared, but not of you. I’m terrified that any sodding second now, I’m gonna wake up.”

Realisation dawned on Buffy’s face and she reached out to very gently touch his cheek. He leaned into it, savouring the connection for a moment until she sighed and lay down on her side, tugging him with her so that they were lying face to face. 

“I get that,” she said softly. “Honestly, I’m waiting for the hammer to fall too. It seems almost too easy and I never get easy, but Spike, this is real. I promise.” 

Her voice dropped to a whisper and her sweet face was so bright and earnest, he felt for a moment that he was going to burst with love. 

“Buffy, whatever happens, sweets, easy or hard, I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’m here, no matter what.” 

She kissed him and he knew that for once in his life, he’d said the right thing. He gathered her in his arms, shifting and rolling slightly to pull her on top of him. He was still naked and she was wearing nothing under that shirt and goddamn, that wet, warm heat was sliding slickly against him, leaving him instantly, achingly hard. He straightened his legs to let her straddle him more fully, his lips never breaking contact with hers, until his foot suddenly brushed something warm and furry, making him start violently in surprise.

“What the fuck?!” 

Buffy broke away from him, rolling off and looking wildly around, searching for a threat she couldn’t see, while the furry intruder, apparently deciding that his startled thrashing indicated a willingness to play, pounced on his ankle and started to gnaw. Spike, finally hearing the purring which he would have noticed far earlier if he hadn’t been completely distracted by Buffy being mostly naked and in his bed, dove briefly beneath the covers to find his assailant and reemerged holding a small bundle of blonde fur that was purring like a finely tuned engine. Kitten. He’d forgotten about the sodding kittens. 

He paused, trying to come with some explanation that wouldn’t make him sound like a prancing idiot but he needn’t have worried. Buffy’s eyes went very wide and she reached for the cat pleadingly.

“Oh, that’s so cute!” she exclaimed. He let her take it and she snuggled it instantly against her chest, making him feel a totally irrational burst of jealousy. She began tickling it under the chin and cooing at it and the purring sound redoubled. “What’s your name, little guy?” 

She looked questioningly at Spike, who shrugged. He hadn’t exactly got around to the naming.

“It is a guy right?” she went on and he shrugged again. 

“Uh, haven’t checked.”

“Since when do you have a cat - oh!”

That last was directed at the little, ginger cat who’d just appeared at the foot of the bed, taking advantage of the door hanging ajar to come in search of his comrade.

“Two cats?” Buffy was looking increasingly confused. The door wavered, then swung the rest of the way open under the pressure of four fuzzy, little bodies, who all tumbled in with squeaks of surprise, landing in a big, squirmy heap. They disentangled themselves and began padding around the room, weaving in a slightly drunken way that suggested they were only just getting used to their legs. Spike rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as the bed gradually became a menagerie, the kittens play fighting, mewling and getting tangled in the blankets.

“Six cats?” Buffy now sounded completely incredulous. 

“It’s sort of a long story,” said Spike, unwilling to divulge what a soft prat he’d been. 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.” She sat with her arms folded as a kitten climbed her back, somehow remaining impassive as it reached her shoulder, then got ambitious and began awkwardly scrabbling up her head. After the sheer craziness of the last 24 hours, the combination of her deadpan expression and the ridiculous antics of her feline wannabe mountaineer was too much for Spike and he began to laugh helplessly. Buffy continued to stare at him expressionlessly for a few moments before she let out a snort and dissolved into giggles. They leaned against each other and laughed a little hysterically, the tension finally draining out of them as the cats crawled all over them. 

“You know,” said Buffy once she’d finally got her breath back. “When I pictured how this morning would go, it never involved becoming a kitty climbing frame.” 

“You’ve thought about this?” he asked shyly and her lips curved into the knowing half smile that he adored. 

“A few times,” she admitted. “You?”

He chuckled. “A lot.” 

She kissed his bare shoulder, then winced as one of the kittens began clawing its way up her bare arm. 

“Okay, seriously, explain the kittens. Are you hosting a poker game or something?”  
.  
“No!” She stared him down and he sighed. There was no getting out of this one. “But you’re close. I … kinda rescued them,” he admitted. “From a poker game.”

Buffy stared at him blankly. “Why?”

“Because they were gonna get eaten!” 

“And these poker players, they let you just walk away with their kittens?”

“Not exactly.” Spike was feeling increasingly ridiculous and just a little bit petulant. What was he supposed to do, let them end up as snack food? “Had to break a few heads, like.” 

“So let me get this straight,” said Buffy, sounding like she was enjoying the whole thing way too much. “You, William the Bloody, beat up a bunch of demons because you didn’t want the cute widdle kitties to become munchies?”

“That’s about the long and the short of it,” he said sulkily and she let out a peal of laughter like bells ringing. Sullen and all as he was right at that moment, the sound made him feel lighter, happier: God, she really was like sunshine. 

“I’m not laughing at you,” she said once she’d managed to control herself. “I’m just laughing because I’m trying to picture your face if I’d told you back in Sunnydale that you were gonna become the saviour of small, adorable animals. I don’t think the Big Bad would’ve liked that idea.”

Spike snorted. “I’d’ve gotten over it pretty quick if I realised it meant having a chance to be with you.” 

Buffy fell silent and it dawned on him that comment hadn’t fit in the playful tone of their conversation. Too earnest, too sincere, too heart on his bloody sleeve as per sodding usual. He searched for some pithy quip that’d lighten the mood, hardly daring to look at her, but when he did she was giving him the same bright, burning look as last night when he’d said he loved her. 

“Get rid of the cats,” she said in a low, intense voice that went straight to his groin. 

“Wha -”

“I am not having sex in front of a hoard of kittens, Spike and I need to make love to you right now. So get the damn cats out of here.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. Did she realise she’d said ‘make love?’ Did she know what effect those simple words had on him? Or was he just reading too much into that like the pathetic sod he was? He felt like she might actually have meant it and that got him going as much, if not more than the heaving of her chest, the sharp peaks of her nipples beneath his shirt or even the warm smell of her arousal rising to greet him. He hauled his jeans on hastily so as not to traumatise anyone who might happen to be around - although he rather suspected that Xander would not be coming back until he gave him an all clear - scooped up the kittens and deposited them in their box in the kitchen. He shut his bedroom door firmly behind him so as to prevent further feline invasions and turned to the bed. His jaw dropped open and he could feel his eyes bulging at the sight that greeted him. Buffy was lying stretched out on the bed, head propped on one hand, her breasts covered by a carelessly draped arm, legs slightly crossed to conceal her sex. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to shag her or fall to his knees and worship her. 

“Well?” she asked in a sultry voice, stretching a little. A bit of both, he realised and crawled up the bed to hover over her. He kissed her, first her sweet, sweet mouth, then her neck - more love bites, he was in for it when she finally looked in a mirror later - then her shoulders, then her breasts - she shuddered and clawed at his back when he sucked her tight, pink nipples - then her stomach, heading down all the while. He hadn’t got but a taste last night, more of a tease than anything else and now that the urgent desperation had faded, spending a good hour or so feasting between her legs sounded like just what the doctor ordered. He wanted to see that glazed look she’d get after her fourth or fifth orgasm, wanted to hear the nearly inhuman moans she’d make.

When his pants started vibrating, he was so turned on that it took him a second to realise that it was actually his phone going off and not just his jeans giving under the strain of his cock. He fumbled with his pocket and checked the display. Dowling. Shit.

“Ignore it, ignore it,” Buffy gasped and he was about to toss it aside when her phone started began to ring too. They looked at each other for a beat and then groaned in unison. 

“Shit.” 

Spike picked up and answered but whatever Dowling was saying to him faded into background noise as Buffy crawled past him to lean over the edge of the bed and root around for her own pants, giving him an excellent view of her bare arse. His mouth pretty much started to water. She popped back up, waving her phone in triumph and the static in his ears cleared a little.

“Spike? Hello? Hey man, are you there?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here,” he said, reaching out for Buffy at the same time. She snuggled comfortably into the circle of his arm and he rubbed her stomach gently as he listened, because he just had to be touching her. What Dowling told him dampened his desire somewhat, especially after the dreams he’d had the night before. He hung up and just held onto her tightly for a moment, catching the end of her conversation. 

“Right. No, of course we’ll find him. I’m sure he’s okay. Alright, bye.” 

She put down the phone and buried her head in his shoulder. 

“Problems?” he asked. 

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” 

They both stayed silent, both wanting to prolong the intimacy just a little while longer. 

“You first,” said Buffy eventually, her voice a little muffled.

“That was Dowling, he’s got two dead bodies, a huge mess and his captain breathing down his neck. Wants me there ASAP.”

“How ASAP?”

“Like, there’s-a-squad-car-waiting-outside ASAP.” 

“Shit.”

“Yeah. You?”

Buffy groaned and burrowed further into his neck. “Andrew’s missing. Clive called, you know, his new friend? Can’t find him and he isn’t picking up his cell or answering Facebook messages or Skype or WhatsApp or email.”

“Andrew always answers.” 

“Yeah.”

_“Shit.”_

After a beat, Buffy raised her head from his shoulder. “Rain check?” she asked.

“Rain check,” he agreed and kissed the tip of her nose. He peeled himself away from her reluctantly and she flopped backwards onto the bed with a moan of protest. Spike forced himself to look away because he knew that if he watched the hypnotic swaying of her tits as her chest rose and fell for a second longer, neither of them were leaving the room for another six hours at least. He located a mostly clean shirt and the idiotic cape he had to wear to go outside at this time of the day, then padded out to look for Buffy’s top and his coat. He found them on the living room floor, blessedly unmauled by kittens and return to find Buffy already mostly dressed. He sat beside her on the bed to put his boots back on and she leaned over to kiss his neck. 

“Why can’t we ever catch a break?” she said wistfully and he turned his head to nuzzle her cheek gently. 

“We’ll deal with this,” he said. “I won’t be long at Dowling’s crime scene, then I’ll come help you find Andrew, we’ll get him home, and then the night is ours, okay?” 

She took a deep breath. “Okay.”  


His phone buzzed again. Dowling. 

“Shit, I’m really late,” he groaned and headed for the door, grabbing his coat and cape as he went. Buffy followed him, holding her shoes in one hand and using the other to grab his lapel and haul him in for one last kiss. He backed through the kitchen, stumbling over kittens and broken statues and she followed, lips locked, until they bumped into the door. 

“I really gotta go,” he breathed between kisses and she broke away. “I’ll see you later,” he promised and she nodded, stepping back towards the couch. He paused in the doorway, biting his tongue against the ‘I love you’ that desperately wanted to come out. It wasn’t time yet. His last glimpse of her before he had to sprint for the stairs was of her sitting down and pulling on her boots, while her hair glistened like spun gold in the sunlight streaming through the window.


End file.
